On a small island in the Pacific Ocean, a wardrobe cabinet silently faded into view on the rocky beach. A door sprung open from its side, and a tall woman with a mass of curly strawberry hair stepped out. She scanned the beach with a hand shielding her blue eyes from the bright sun, before slowly making her way toward a fallen palm that looked like an inviting place to sit and wait. A breeze played tag with the lime green sarong she wore, forcing her to hold the skirt with one hand while she stepped between the rocks.
She sat down on the fallen palm and crossed her legs at the ankles. She checked her watch and saw that she was early. While she waited, she pulled a slim black book and a pen from the wicker handbag she had over one shoulder. She opened the book, turned her back to the wind, and began to write.
***
This little island is gorgeous, to say the least. I never knew this third-rate planet had places of such beauty like this. The smells carried in the wind are quite intoxicating.
I have all the time in the universe at the moment. It's been nice just to sit back and observe the cosmos for reasons other than personal gain.
Above my head, a large bird - an albatross, I think they're called - is heading out across the ocean, riding the wind currents effortlessly. I could sit here and watch the albatross for hours and enjoy it, watching it soar to the clouds, plummet toward the sky-blue waters, stalk its next meal silently before swiftly plucking a fish from the waters with grace and an unconscious style...
Have I changed that much in such a short time?
I was never one for philosophy, or metaphysics. Those subjects never interested me, until now. I had other, more concrete concepts that drove me: The sciences, the objective view...
Who am I kidding? I was no more objective that him, or that other fool, the Master. I claimed objectivity as a cover for greed, malice, conquests, personal gain; something I had no right to claim. I spent a long time in a greedy sulk after being thrown off Gallifrey for my own ambitious follies.
***
She put the pen down in the folds of the book and looked out over the ocean. She followed the albatross in its never-ending journey across the Pacific, until it became a tiny black dot against the rest of the bright sky.
Looking at what she wrote, she wondered why she had the desire to rip her life apart for no good reason. Is this the curse of consciousness, she thought. She glanced across the rocky shore, looking for any signs of him. Finding none, she picked up the pen.
***
Like he needed me to unburden part of his guilt on Voloux, I have guilt of my own to expunge, the cause of which I know he would understand. Since leaving Xordoine, I have been unable to get on with my life and all the things I wish to do.
Xordoine.
A disaster of my own making - no, more like a buried land mine from my past. Just waiting for someone to step on it.
I did what I could. I just hope it was enough.
***
It took her a few seconds to notice that her hands were trembling. At first she assumed it was the breeze, but realised she couldn't stop shaking after the wind died. She stared down at the spiky scrawl of the last sentence she wrote in her journal, a harsh contrast of her textbook perfect script the rest of the entry was composed of.
Harsh visions paced her mind. Fragmented thoughts and images of what happened on Xordoine. She dropped the book into the sand by her feet and closed her eyes tightly, desperately trying to let go of the tiger unleashed in her mind.
Suddenly, she was up and walking towards the rocky shore, moved by some inner need to vent all the frustration built up inside her. She reached down and scooped up a handful of small stones while she walked. Before she realised what was happening, she was running, ignoring the pain of the rocks against her bare soles. Reaching the warm water, she planted and threw the handful of stones as far as she could, letting out a loud scream that dissipated in the wind.
Still enervated, she grabbed stone after stone and hurled them into the blue waters, her right arm a constant blur of motion. The water churning and foaming under her feet. And with every rock she threw into the ocean, she screamed, until her throat was raw and tattered.
She looked down at her hands, they were still. She felt beads of sweat forming on her brow, heard her breath come out in short gasps.
She shook her head, embarrassed by the loss of control.
***
The long swim did her some good. She stood there, breathing heavy, perspiring, feeling her cheeks turn red with embarrassment.
It was then she felt the cool salt water lapping against her shins.
She stripped off her sarong, the blouse, and her underwear and dove into the water. As she swam, her mind emptied. The long rhythmic strokes she employed soothed the turmoil of conflicting thoughts until she was able to bottle them.
She took a deep breath and dove under the surface. She pushed her way to the ocean floor, touched the bed with her long fingers, then flipped and headed for the surface, letting the air out her lungs in a slow, steady stream of bubbles.
Feeling calm and refreshed, she swam for the shore.
***
She changed into a black sweater and jeans, tied her hair back into a slick pony tail and made her way back to the log. The anger was still floating in her mind, a presence that wouldn't go away. She checked her watch and saw he was late. Shaking her head in frustration, she channelled her anger into building a fire to counter the cooling of the twilight air.
After getting a small pile of sticks and dried grass started with a pocket-sized thermal lance, she reached for the journal.
***
The relaxing effect of the swim is wearing off. The anger I have over what happened at Xordoine - so much death, all of it preventable - won't go away. If I could have arrived earlier, or even better gone back and prevented...
No. I know the rules, and as tempting as it might seem, I couldn't go back....
It's not anger, it's frustration. Being unable to prevent the wholesale slaughter of the Tellurian colony there. Barely escaping with my remaining lives.
***
She heard the familiar TARDIS materialisation sound and stood up. Ten feet away was the silly blue cabinet form his ship perpetually took. The door opened and out he stepped, a wide grin on his face.
But not the one she expected, or wanted to see.
The wind played tag with his scarf as he marched over to her.
"This is unexpected," she said, frowning slightly.
"Not happy to see me? You did call - This is a radical new look for you."
"I know, Doctor."
"So, what mad scheme do you have cooked up this time, Rani?"
"No more schemes, Doctor. All in the past."
The Doctor closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them. "So, what happened?" he asked, smiling again.
"I've matured," the Rani replied, sitting back down on the sand.
"What's with the call? It was a bit shocking to receive."
"I'm looking for advice."
"About what?" the Doctor asked, his voice growing serious.
"This is going to take a while, Doctor."
"Take your time," the Doctor replied, extracting a wax bag from his pocket. He took a jelly baby for himself, then offered the bag the Rani, who accepted one.
"Do you have anything to drink?"
"Ginger pop."
"Anything stronger?"
The Doctor thought for a moment. "Some McEwan's Export."
"Well, Bitters will work."
The Doctor walked back to the TARDIS.
***
The Rani told her story to the Doctor. As she spoke, she felt the pent up storm of emotions inside her subside and disperse. She sat upright, back leaning against the fallen palm, cross-legged, while the Doctor stretched out his long legs, laced his arms behind his head. Although he said nothing and had his gaze focused on the darkening sky, he listened to every word.
"So, how did you leave it?" the Doctor asked.
"The situation has stabilised on Xordoine, but too many lives were lost." Her voice was calm, detached.
The Doctor finished the last drops of his pint. "If it's any consolation, I've been through this before. Far too many times for my liking."
"How do you deal with it? The confusion, anger, frustration."
"I learned how to let it all go. Not that it ever goes away entirely," he replied, taking off his hat and running his hand through his curly mop. "I'm assuming you've only started to -"
"Meddle? That's the other thing. I've been a meddler before. Only now, I'm trying to intervene for the sake of Time, not for my own self interests."
The Doctor smiled. "I knew you had it in you, Rani."
The Rani shook her head. "I just never knew how hard it was going to be."
"It never is easy. If it was, there would be more of us doing it."
The Rani shook her head. "I've always meant to ask you this, Doctor. Why?"
"Why what?" the Doctor countered, smiling.
"Why did you choose to meddle?"
"Why do you think I chose to?"
"Don't be coy, Doctor," the Rani snapped. "I am just looking for an answer."
The Doctor smiled, touched the side of his nose with his finger. "I was an idealistic young Gallifreyan brimming with youthful idealism, living on a planet filled with boring old pedants afraid to do what was right unless their back was to the wall. That answer your question?"
The Rani frowned, but couldn't prevent a smile from growing on her face. "It's a partial answer, but I'm grateful for that much, at least."
"Well."
"Thank you for coming, Doctor."
"You're welcome," the Doctor replied, putting his hat back on. "By the way, which one of me were you expecting?"
"One of your future incarnations."
The Doctor thought for a moment. "That model does have a certain charm about him."
The Rani opened her mouth, but found herself unable to speak.
"Edna, it's okay. I know a few things I shouldn't, but we'll keep that between us." The Doctor got up and headed back to his TARDIS.
The Rani finally found her voice as the TARDIS disappeared. "I hate that name," she shouted, before being overcome with laughter.
The new Rani returns in: Orphans
